Raza
Raza shows; she always shows when there’s a potential bit of business to be done. The bar owner, however, isn’t in much a rush and allows Ray to sit there (with a drink, of course, should she want one) for a little bit. Just because she can, and because Hoa has an eye on her from above. When it seems like she’s made Ray wait long enough, Raza saunters out from the back, not even pretending to have been workin’ hard, though, yes, she she does glisten a little. The Hanged Man’s modifications have made it more secure, but also a bit warmer in the back (fuck, Longheat is gonna be hellish). “You’re paint a better picture at my bar than yer Pa did,” the older woman says with a cheeky grin, casually eyeing her up and down. While there aren’t many folks in the bar, she doesn’t necessarily want their conversation to be for all ears, so she grabs a glass, pours something dark into it, and then comes closer, under the pretense of chipping off some ice.
“Mik said business. Bar business or other business?” She has a hunch, but wouldn’t presume. Some folks ain’t like their parents.
reppin' a district of obvious misfits
